


Spiritual Weapon

by ceylontea



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Pegging, Romance, Smut, unusual and questionable use of a dnd spell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 22:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20090131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceylontea/pseuds/ceylontea
Summary: Scanlan wants to be pegged. Pike doesn't have a strap with her. But they have other ideas.





	Spiritual Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> I tweeted this concept and people seemed to enjoy it. This is the resulting fic.

Scanlan is unlacing the bodice of Pike’s dress, eager fingers fumbling.

He’s the one who usually wears clothing like this—all cumbersome and decorative—but they just returned from a rather fancy political dinner party, and they’re both dressed for the occasion. Pike in particularly stunning fashion. In fact, the sheer beauty of the cleric in a ballgown had blown every other attendee out of the water. Or at least, Scanlan assumed so. He’d hadn’t seen much of the other guests. He hadn’t really taken his eyes off Pike.

And right now, he’s quickly growing flustered. Her bright eyes are fixed on him as he attempts to remove the aforementioned gown. He must admit, in the short time they’ve been together, she’s always done a better job of disentangling him from his clothes. He may be a little too enthusiastic. And tipsy.

“Come on, you remarkable tits,” Scanlan murmurs to the chest beneath the dress.

Pike laughs fondly. Her fingertips dance up the length of his bare spine. He tugs open another row, a loop of ribbon sliding from a pair of eyelets.

It occurs to him, in his fuzzy, very much in-love mind, that this is bodice is a metaphor for their sex life—an endless thread of glorious experiences held together by two important tethers. The first: their intimate knowledge of one other. Their understanding of who they are and what they want. The second: their absolute trust. Whether in setting boundaries or confessing their innermost desires without judgement.

The bard in him wonders if he could make a song out of that.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Pike says softly, as he tears away the last row of ribbon, and he can finally part the front of her dress.

His mind still in that tender place, he slides one shoulder down first, kisses the bare skin—his target a single mole right above the crease of her underarm. Then he pushes back the other side, giving a matching kiss, this shoulder marked by a shiny scar instead.

Pike pulls her hands free, returning two warm palms to Scanlan’s back. The azure fabric hangs at her waist, and she shivers as cool air brushes her skin. Her nipples harden.

Scanlan turns reverent attention to her breasts.

He cups them delicately, thumbs tracing both nipples, and feels almost giddy with joy at the weight of them in his hands. Pike arches her back a little, smiling at the sensation. His lips follow his fingers across the swell of her chest, one, two, three, four, five kisses for each side—each fingertip—ending on the nipple. Her eyes flutter closed.

“Scanlan,” she says, with that husky quality that means she’s already growing needy.

He grins, darting his tongue out to run the edge of one dark areola. Her grip tightens on his back, nails digging into the flesh.

“Touch me,” she asks.

Sometimes, Scanlan likes to draw things out. But when she asks so directly, he’s never been good at denying her. His mouth is happy to linger at her breasts—a graze of teeth, a gentle brush of his talented tongue. His hand drifts between her legs. He teases soft strokes across the slit of her vulva, dipping between the lips for the barest touches of wet warmth. Until she’s practically squirming.

“Honey, _oh, _wait a second,” she says.

He pulls back, breathless, and looks up at her, a question in his eyes.

She grabs his face and tugs him closer for a kiss on the mouth, taking advantage of his small gasp of surprise to slide her tongue into his mouth. There’s a desperation in her now that makes his head spin—this heady exchange between romantic affection and wild thirst is something Pike does so well.

Her hands untwine the cord that binds his hair, and chocolate waves fall across his shoulders. Her fingers twist into it, guiding the angle of his head.

When their lips part again, Scanlan whines.

Pike’s mouth picks its way down his jawline. She nibbles right against a tender spot where she’s already marked his skin. Scanlan is clinging to her now.

“Tell me what you want, Scanlan,” Pike says rather seriously against his neck. “Ask for anything.”

“I—” he can barely gather a conscious thought. His mind is a stream of desires—Pike on top of him, pressed against him… inside of him? “I want—”

Pike laughs.

“What do you want?”

She pecks the soft spot again and withdraws a little, gazing into his eyes.

“I want you to fuck me.” The words tumble out.

Her brows raise. A pleased smile creeps across her face—almost of its own accord.

“You do?”

“Yes,” he stammers. “Yeah, like, with a- a phallus. Um. In the ass.”

Pike grins fully. Then looks frustrated.

“I thought we would do that someday,” she says. “I just didn’t except it… today.”

He kisses her sweetly.

“We don’t have to,” he says placatingly. “If you—”

“No, I want to,” she interrupts. But her brow is still furrowed. “It’s just. I don’t have a strap of- of any kind.”

Scanlan bites his lip. Opens his mouth. Closes it.

He has an idea—his mind running away with him, bringing up buried fantasies. But in all honesty, he isn’t sure if it’ll work. He doesn’t know much about cleric magic.

“Scanlan,” Pike says. “If you have something to say, don’t hold back.”

“Well,” he musters a suggestive grin. “Could you summon Spiritual Weapon?”

Pike’s eyes widen. This time her laughter is more startled than soft. But her expression quickly turns to consideration.

“You know,” she says. “That may actually work. And I do have… everything else we need.”

Scanlan cocks his head in question.

Pike extracts herself from his embrace, leaving him with his back against the door.

“Sit down,” she instructs.

He plunks onto the bed. Pike pulls her dress free from her hips, letting it pool to the floor, so she can more easily walk to the cloak rack in the corner. Her travelling satchel hangs from a hook. She digs inside the main pocket, looking quite the sight, naked and gorgeous in the firelight, which flickers over all her raised scars. Its distracting enough that Scanlan doesn’t think about what she’s searching for. His eyes rove over her thick thighs, the thatch of moonlight-white hair between them, the definition of her stomach, the tilt of her waist, her breasts glistening where he’s kissed them, her wide shoulders and muscular arms, her serene face. He fidgets as he grows harder by the second.

Pike stops, suddenly, and withdraws a small, glass vial from the bag. She walks back to Scanlan. Her face is flushed now. The liquid in the bottle shimmers, swirled through with a pale pink colour that Scanlan recognises from certain kinds of magic. Sex magic.

“A purchase from Gilmore,” Pike explains. And Scanlan understands why she’s blushing—not embarrassed to tell him, but embarrassed at the memory of buying this from their friend. “To ease the process and, ah, provide stimulation.”

Scanlan nods in wordless awe. The fact that she was already planning this really gets to him.

He watches closely, hungry eyes fixed on her, as she removes the cork. She tips out a drop barely larger than a pea, then sets the bottle on the bedside table. The pink in the concoction seems to glow in contact with her skin. She rubs her hands together—slowly spreading the gleam of magic across her palms, around her fingers.

“Ready, sweetheart?” she asks, so gentle in tone, with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“Yes,” he breathes.

He edges back onto the bed and Pike climbs after him, kissing him hungrily. His legs spread wide, her body fitted between them. Her hand runs down his torso, trailing through the curled hair on his chest, following the line down, down, down between his legs. She leaves shining pink everywhere she touches, yet her hand loses none of its lubrication.

Right when he least expects it, Pike offers a brush of fingers against the length of his cock. He gasps. And then she’s moved past. She traces his asshole before sliding a finger inside. All Scanlan can do is whimper.

“Is this good?”

He manages an affirmative noise. Both his hands are clutching tight on her waist, as if he’s scared to let go.

Pike begins to move her finger, and he presses into her touch, moaning, squeezing his eyes shut. He begins to plead for more, and as his body stretches, accepting her attentions, she adds another finger.

“Good job, darling,” she murmurs. “You’re doing so well.”

Her other hand is grounded on his thigh, and her thumb strokes a soft approving pattern, so tender tears spring to his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, Scanlan.”

She continues working him, until he’s a pleading mess, begging for the next stage, his cock throbbing with desperate _need. _

“Alright,” Pike agrees. “It’s time.”

She sits back on her thighs for a moment, admiring the man laid out before her—Scanlan’s chest heaving with each breath—his wrecked expression, lips parted as he gazes up at her. Then she spares a brief thought hoping Sarenrae won’t mind this, decides its likely not the first time the spell’s been used this way, and she casts Spiritual Weapon.

Her phallus manifests exactly as she wanted it. Golden and bright, strapped to her with threads of radiance, like a gossamer harness, more beautiful than what any real craftsmanship could achieve. There are swirling designs across its surface, to provide more sensation for her lover, and it’s a little larger than his own cock. She knows he’ll be aching with desire when she teases him about that later.

She runs her hands down its length, and it’s as solid as anything, despite its spectral appearance. The pink potion, as promised, coats it without vanishing from her hands.

“Turn over, baby,” she says.

Scanlan does as he’s told, tucking his knees and presenting his ass in the most beautiful fashion. He really does have a good ass. He knows it, too. She can see his cheek curved with a smug smile.

“Fuck me, Pike.” And this time his pleading is cocky. “I can feel how bad you want to.”

She smiles with equal confidence. Runs a hand up the side of his back and watches the muscles tense.

Then she positions herself and guides the phallus inside him. Her hand is strong, but gentle. Scanlan gasps again—a pretty pitched sound than echoes through her core—and he seems completely overcome with the intensity of his arousal, helped and enhanced by the magic of their lube.

Fuck, they’re going to have to bake Gilmore a phenomenal thank you gift after this. 

Pike fits the curve of her body against Scanlan’s. She relies on the strength of her thighs to keep her upright, and uses both hands to hold him closer, her breasts grazing his back, nipples sensitive to the feel of his skin. She watches his own hands fist in the tangled sheets. With the first slow thrusts of her hips, she nuzzles against his neck, and nips tauntingly at a tense muscle at the top of his back. His hair tickles her cheeks.

He presses against her desperately, hips stuttering. And Pike realises the second perfect thing about the spiritual weapon she’s summoned. It stimulates her clit with every rocking motion.

She picks up the pace.

Scanlan gasps and groans as she hits the perfect angle, and keeps on track. He reaches for his own cock, but Pike stills his hand.

“No, Scanlan. That’s mine today.”

And at first, she doesn’t touch it.

He whimpers. He arches his back into her thrusts.

“Please,” he begs.

He grips the sheets so hard its clear he's holding himself back from the need for some kind of friction. Pike lets her hand spread lower along his torso, achingly slow in comparison with the quick motion of their entwined forms. Finally, she grasps his cock, a gentle caress of her hand.

“_Oh, _I’m close,” Scanlan moans. “I’m so close.”

“Already?” she says innocently, though they’ve been at this a long time.

He laughs, pressing back against her once more. With their next forward motion, she lets her hand slide faster over his cock. She finds a rhythm, moves quicker and quicker, as she feels deep aching heat build inside herself as well.

Scanlan chokes out her name as he comes.

She strokes him through the last of it, a spill of white across her hand, across the bed. He slumps against the pillows, breathing hard, and she lets her phallus slip carefully out of him, sitting back on her thighs to observe the loose-limbed bliss of her lover's form. His brown skin is flushed. His hands, weakly, release their grip on the sheets. Sweet and satisfied.

She dismisses Spiritual Weapon and slips a hand between her legs. She’s soaked already, and so near the edge of her own orgasm, she wonders if the sight of him will be enough.

But Scanlan would never leave her to that alone. He turns over, a little trembly, and crawls to her. He places a first messy, grateful kiss on her mouth, and then drops his head between her thighs, gentle fingers moving hers aside. His nose is soon buried in the damp, pale curls there.

He tends enthusiastically to his new task, her legs now tucked across his shoulders, until her beck arches and she, too, yells him name. His tongue works its way over her most sensitive spots, all the way through the final peak of her pleasure.

As it ends, Scanlan withdraws, an absolutely triumphant smile painted across his face.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too.”


End file.
